Here and Now

by Constance O'Day-Flannery

  With an air of reverence he entered and quietly shut the door behind him. The place was dark and he ran his hand over the wall, hoping to find an electrical line. Instead of a large knob and wires tacked to a wall, he found a toggle switch and simply flipped it. Warm lights instantly shined throughout the most inviting room he had ever seen. In awe, he stood in the foyer just to take it all in for a minute.

  The exposed timber framing and rafters across the cathedral ceiling revealed a strong skeleton in this old home. Gray stone pavers evoked a rugged and well-trod floor beneath his feet and welcomed him in further. The spacious area was light and airy, with a woman’s soft touch in the tasteful mix of comfortable upholstered chairs and sofa. Opening one of the three sets of French doors on the far wall of the room he stepped out onto the porch, and realized it wrapped around the entire home. Turning back inside, he was drawn to the massive fieldstone fireplace that had to be at least eight feet wide at the hearth. His eyes traced the chimney that loomed far above to the crown of the gable. This was truly a magnificent home.

  Walking into the kitchen, he made his way around the huge centerpiece, and opened what he hoped was an icebox. His shoulders sagged in relief when he saw the wide array of food inside. Suzanne had told him to help himself to whatever he wanted, and he was starved.

  Taking out a large, soft bottle of what he guessed to be orange juice, he uncapped it and reached for a glass on one of the open shelves. After filling the tall tumbler, he leaned against the marble counter and drank it all in a continuous series of gulps. Taking a deep breath and refilling it, he looked around the house and appreciated the warmth of the place. This home was much more to his liking than anything he’d seen so far in this modern world. This felt comforting to him. He couldn’t imagine any man wanting to leave it—or the woman who had obviously created it.

  He suddenly thought of his betrothed, Grace, and a dull ache yanked at his heart. In this time, she would have to be almost ninety years old, or was more likely dead. Small regrets began to fill his mind. He could admit he wasn’t desperately in love with her, but it had been the time and years he’d spent nearly fulfilling all his dreams of a home and family that he felt were lost to him now. He might have spent a little less time pursuing his goals, instead of his happiness, and settled down sooner, but when he finally asked her, Grace lived up to her name and welcomed his proposal. He remembered her adoring eyes and open heart. Dear Grace… what did she do when I disappeared from her life? he wondered. Did she marry another? A part of him almost hoped she had, and wished she’d led a happy life. At least, since they’d never married, she wasn’t left a widow. Still, if by some miracle he ever did get back, he would go forth with all his plans and never tell another about this fantastic trip to the future. Who would believe him anyway?

  Deciding to take care of Suzanne’s requests before eating, Charles left the kitchen and walked toward the expansive staircase. He flipped on the overhead lights in the hallway upstairs and passed by a bedroom, then another, then a large bath, and finally, at the end of the hall, he found Suzanne’s room. Everything was exactly where she’d said it would be.

  It was all in different shades of white, with touches of green and big watercolor paintings of flowers and the largest bed he had ever seen. He paused as he was about to open her closet door. On the night table was a framed colored picture of Suzanne and a man, and curiosity got the better of him. Knowing it must be her husband and wanting to see what such a fool looked like, he picked up the frame and studied the picture.

  They looked happy, standing before a waterfall, smiling for the photograph.

  Suzanne appeared radiant, as she grinned into the lens of the camera. The man… Charles looked closer, narrowing his vision to see better. The man was slightly taller than Suzanne, with brown hair and eyes that seemed oddly familiar. He shook off the thought and headed to her closet. He didn’t want to look too closely, for what Suzanne’s husband had done to her made him furious.

  She had described exactly what she wanted and he flipped through the rack of Suzanne’s clothing to find her desired dress. He wasn’t looking forward to the rest of her request. The shoes he could handle. Searching through a woman’s undergarment drawer was quite another thing, yet he had to admit that the two of them had established a certain intimacy that was unusual for him. Most of the time it took him a while to open up to anyone, much less a woman. Not many got past his defenses, yet he and Suzanne seemed to bypass all else and were more or less forced to rely upon each other. It was probably that reason he felt a great protectiveness toward her, and now her child, which was completely out of character for him…

  Suddenly, he turned his head and stared at the photograph again.

  Those eyes reminded him of that bastard, Mitch Davies.

  He nearly jumped when the strange telephone on the bedside table began to ring, an odd ring, and he froze, just staring at it. It wasn’t his place to answer. When it stopped, he turned back to the closet, then couldn’t stop the grunt of sudden alarm that escaped his lips when he heard the male voice behind him.

  “Suzanne, pick up the phone.” There was a pause. “Look, I’m really sorry about today, but we didn’t see the point in waiting. You deserved to know and… well, I’m here. At Ingrid’s. Call me, okay?”

  Charles stared at the small machine next to the telephone and slowly shook his head in wonder. He’d just realized another thing he and Suzanne had in common.

  They each had trusted scoundrels.

  4

  He didn’t even know why he was running. It was just an instinctive compulsion, but now he felt his legs weakening. He knew he couldn’t keep this pace much longer, yet it was beyond his reason why he couldn’t seem to get away from this area. Every path he took led him right back to the same damn bridge. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

  Near exhaustion, he began to cross the bridge once again as the night air chilled the droplets of sweat on his temples. Gasping for another breath, the tightness in his chest forced him to stop and lean on the thick, aged trellis beam for support. The cry of an owl repeated, “Who? Who-who?” over the pounding of his heart and he closed his eyes. Rest. That was all he wanted, but when would it come?

  Suddenly, the sound of bootheels on the boards behind him broke his trance. There was no time to turn before the shot rang out and hot pain entered his skull. It was at that moment he felt as though he’d been yanked out of himself and was now viewing the scene like a cinema flicker.

  He saw the limp body crumple and tumble over the side of the bridge. He watched helplessly as it hurled toward the moonlit water. His mind raced with surreal theories and caught on one. That can’t be me, he exhaled in denial. I can’t die. No, no, no, his mind repeated in echoes. “Heaven have mercy, I’m dead!” Charles gasped.

  Feeling as though the last breath had been punched out of him, his body stiffened, and he winced against the brightness. There was such intense light around him, he nearly feared blindness should he open his eyes fully to see. His heart continued to pound rapidly and his palms dripped of perspiration. Then he felt something soft and cool beneath his fingertips. It was cloth. Smooth and clean, he discerned, and then he sensed the same comfort around his bare skin. He inhaled slowly and deliberately.

  Where am I? he wondered as he gathered the courage to open one eye. Blinking a few more times, he began to focus on the white coverlet draped over him. His gaze followed it down to the humps of his feet in front of the dark, polished walnut footboard of the bed. He wiggled his toes beneath the fabric.

  “A dream. It was just a dream,” he breathed out with relief. Swallowing the dryness in his throat, he looked around the room to gather his senses. He saw his familiar shirt hanging on one of the bedposts in front of him. His trousers were folded neatly and placed on a chair cushion with his boots tucked under it on the floor. “Where the hell am I?” he repeated aloud.

  Charles rubbed his eyes in an effort to gain some more clarity. Leani
ng back on his hands, he allowed the morning to unfold around him. A fresh breeze came in through the open window and the songs of morning birds filled his ears. He shook his head for the thought that was playing in his brain. This was no kind of heaven he’d ever been told about.

  He reached for his shirt and, in a flash, he recalled having washed it the night before. Pulling it down, he looked for the stains of blood he remembered scrubbing. Not a trace remained. Pausing for a second to consider another possibility, he reached for his temple. “Ow,” he flinched. The wound was real. That’s when it began to sink in rapidly.

  Memories rushed through his head so quickly; Mitch and the bridge—the gun—the deed—jumping and nearly drowning—being pulled from the river by a woman—driving a fantastic automobile—going to a hospital—a baby being born—

  “Oh, damn!” he exclaimed aloud, while throwing the covers back. “Suzanne!” His eyes darted around the room for a timepiece. Leaping off the bed while pulling his arm through a sleeve, he continued to search for a clock. “Damn it, what’s the time?” he rasped.

  It had all come back to him. He was supposed to pick up Suzanne at the hospital. Grabbing up his trousers, he shook them out of habit and then thrust a foot through a pant leg. Snatching up his socks, he began mumbling while pulling them on.

  “None of this makes any sense. How does something like this happen?” he asked half to himself, half to the empty room. He shook his head in disbelief before adding, “Time travel?”

  Yanking on his boots, he stood up and stamped one heel on the floor to fit it snugly against the leather hardened from a soaking in the creek. Then, after cinching his belt, he pondered his own question. Don’t think about it now, Charlie. It will all, somehow, make sense later.

  I doubt it, he mentally quipped.

  “I’m losing my mind,” he snapped after realizing he was actually conversing with himself. As he began to leave the room, he caught his reflection in a wardrobe mirror. He stopped and stepped back to view himself more thoroughly. In a vain attempt to tame the cowlick on the back of his head, he spoke aloud again. “You certainly look as crazy as a coot, Charles Garrity.”

  About twenty minutes later he was walking toward the hospital doors. He felt proud of himself for, even as a man on the brink of insanity, he’d remembered how to operate the automobile and find his way back to the hospital. His confidence lessened very slightly as he looked around at the busy place. Now to navigate once more through this madness.

  Just do this and get back home, he reassured himself. Funny how that word replayed itself in his mind. Home. Surely Suzanne’s large farmhouse wasn’t his home, and yet it was the only place that offered sanctuary right now, for his own was seventy-five years away and so far as he knew no longer existed. He realized how much he owed the remarkable woman who had saved his life. If this is where he found himself, no matter how he got here, then he was determined to make the best of his situation. Fit in. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Do whatever it takes until you can find your way back… The words kept repeating inside his head.

  Pushing the button for the maternity floor, he smiled at the older woman who got into the elevator with him and clutched the flowers he had gathered quickly from Suzanne’s front garden. He thought it only right that she leave this hospital with flowers in her hands.

  “I see we’re going to the same floor,” the older woman announced.

  Charles smiled again, shifting the small bag of clothing for Suzanne.

  Obviously wanting to make conversation, the woman added, “So tell me, what did you have?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “A boy or a girl?” the gray-haired woman asked with a chuckle, as though amused by his confusion.

  “Oh, a boy,” Charles answered, not feeling he needed to explain to this woman all the details.

  “My daughter just had her fourth. Another boy. They certainly are a handful,” she said in good-natured voice. “Are you prepared?”

  “Prepared? He’s just a wee babe,” Charles replied, glancing up to the blinking numbers and once more marveling at the difference in elevators from his time.

  “Oh, this must be your first,” she announced with a knowing grin. “I guess you’re never really prepared.”

  Charles was grateful when the door opened to their floor. As they walked out of the elevator and he was about to say good-bye to the woman, she reached out her hand and gently touched his sleeve.

  “Be patient,” she advised with another smile. “Both with your son and your wife. Don’t be surprised if your wife suddenly gets the blues. Lord knows, I wasn’t prepared for that myself. Patience is the best way to handle it.”

  “The blues?”

  “Postpartum blues. Why, I thought all you young people knew everything.”

  Charles mumbled, “Yes, of course. Postpartum blues.” What the hell was that?

  “Well, congratulations on your son’s birth. I wish you and your family a lifetime of happiness.”

  Startled by the woman’s words, Charles simply nodded and said, “Thank you. And congratulations on your new grandson.”

  The woman smiled once more and turned in the opposite direction. Charles slowly turned toward Suzanne’s room and straightened his shoulders. The way that woman just assumed he was the father of this new family really rattled him. It wasn’t his role to play. In fact, he’d barely gotten a handle on how to be the man he’d always wanted to become when he’d been snatched away from his life and thrust into this one.

  Walking down the hallway, he bit the inside of his cheek as things he’d done in his past flashed through his mind. Making a small fortune in bootleg whiskey was one of them. He shook the thought out of his head. All he had to do today was get Suzanne and Matty to their home. He’d figure out the rest later.

  When he opened the door to her room, Charles stood for a moment and his breath caught in his throat. Suzanne was sitting in bed, nursing her son. Rays of sunshine fell across them, and he thought she looked almost angelic as she smiled down at Matty.

  Glancing up, her grin widened. “I just knew you’d come back,” she declared in a whisper.

  He cleared his throat and walked farther into the room, allowing the door to close quietly behind him. “Of course I would,” he whispered back. “Didn’t I tell you I would be here this morning?”

  She nodded and gently used the back of her fingers to stroke the infant’s cheek. “I wasn’t even worried, Charlie. Did you find everything?”

  “I think so,” he answered, putting the bag onto a nearby chair. He stood for a few moments, just staring, until Suzanne looked up at him. “These are for you,” he announced, and thrust his hand out in her direction. Although he could barely even see any bare skin with a cloth diaper resting on Suzanne’s shoulder and draped over her chest, still he was embarrassed.

  “Aww,” she murmured, holding out her hand to him as he stepped closer to the bed.

  Averting his eyes from the intimate scene before him, he focused on her hand as he placed the flowers in them. “They’re from your garden.”

  “How perfect,” she whispered, sniffing a yellow blossom.

  As she looked up to him again, she handed the flowers back and asked, “Does this embarrass you?”

  “Embarrass me?”

  “Yes. Breast-feeding Matty.”

  She just stared at him with those big blue eyes, waiting for his answer, and Charles was even more confounded when his gaze seemed drawn to Matty’s tiny mouth tugging on Suzanne’s breast. “No, it doesn’t embarrass me,” he lied in a rough voice, for his throat was tight with a surge of emotion. None of it made sense to him. Why was he so moved to see her nursing her son?

  “Good,” she proclaimed, slowly shifting the baby to her shoulder and adjusting the yellow hospital gown to cover herself. Gently patting Matty’s back, she added, “’Cause if we’re going to be living together for a few days, you’ll have to get used to it.”

  He just nodded stupidly
and looked to the bag on the chair. “I found that car seat in the nursery, the one you told me about last night, but for the life of me I don’t know how it works. I just left it on the backseat of the automobile.”

  Suzanne swayed slightly as she continued to pat her son’s back. “That’s all right, I’ll figure it out. Now, do you want to hold Matty while I get dressed?”

  He could actually feel his body tense. “You want me to hold him?”

  She giggled slightly, as though his reaction was amusing. “Of course. We’re a team here, aren’t we?” Her brows suddenly narrowed. “Unless you want me to call a nurse to take him? Charlie, are you afraid of the baby?”

  Charles shook his head, as though the thought were ridiculous. “Afraid… of a baby? Of course not. I’ll take the wee lad.” He’d held the child last night, so he could certainly do it now.

  Suzanne seemed pleased by his answer as he held out his hands.

  She gave him the diaper. “Here, put this over your shoulder first and then you can burp him while I get dressed.”

  Charles placed the cloth on his shoulder and Suzanne carefully handed over Matty. The baby made soft mewling sounds and curled his little body tightly at the disruption, making tiny fists with his hands and drawing up his knees. Placing the infant to his shoulder, Charles noticed that Matty soon relaxed as tiny breaths sounded close to his ear. He felt a little silly as a rush of pleasure surged through his body and he immediately began patting Matty’s back while Suzanne tried to rise from the bed.